This post is a response to John Wentsworth's recent post on Generalized Hangriness specifically as it applies to outrage, an emotion that is especially likely to make false claims. I expect that some readers will find it obvious, but I hope others will find it useful to have the concept laid out clearly. My aim is to offer a reminder of why you should stop and check before acting on outrage, and also to provide a useful parable to explain to non-rationalists:
Once upon a time, a prince was exiled without attendants. He went to live in a cottage in the forest, alone except for his infant son and loyal dog[1]. One day, as he had on other days before, he left his dog to guard the baby and went into the forest to hunt for food. When he returned he found a horrifying scene: the child's crib had been overturned. Blood splattered the tangled bedclothes. The dog rushed to greet the prince, blood still dripping from its muzzle. The prince wailed in horror. The dog had eaten his son! The prince drew his sword and cut the dog's head from its neck with a single blow.
As the prince stood alone and horrified in the wreckage of the room the silence was broken by a baby's cry. The prince rushed to search. Under the overturned crib he found his son, alive and unharmed. Beside the crib was the body of a wolf, which had been hidden under the sheets. The prince's loyal dog had fought a wolf, all by itself, to defend the baby. And the prince had killed the dog for its loyalty.
The moral of the story[2] is that, no matter what crime someone has committed, no matter how outraged you feel, even if someone has eaten a baby, you check if they actually committed that crime before doing anything to them.
As such, this is also a response to the post on Social Dark Matter: Duncan asks readers to stop and think before launching into socially-approved outrage against someone with a stigmatized trait. One of his examples is: what if you're a concerned parent in the 1950s who discovers that your child's teacher is actually gay. If you have already internalised the view that, whatever crime someone has apparently committed, you stop and check before punishing them for it, then it's not difficult to add an extra mental step where you consider whether the person has in fact committed a crime, or if you are making the same mistake as a 1950s parent who thought that gay = paedophile.
I am not an expert on installing new mental habits, and will defer to the CFAR handbook for techniques to do so. I remember that simply hearing the parable was enough to make me radically update my understanding of how to act skilfully; and I hope that at least some readers will have similar reactions.
This is the legend of the Welsh Prince Llewelyn and his hound Gelert, and it's usually set in the prince's castle, but when I first heard it as a child, it was set in a lonely cottage, which makes more sense.
The original moral. There is a second, much subtler, moral that emerges if you think about it: dogs can't talk. That is: the dog is incapable of defending himself against the prince's suspicion. The onus is on the prince to check.
Even when dealing with humans, if you want to behave justly, you should ask yourself to what extent the accused person is capable of defending themself. (I mean this in the widest context here: not just people investigating actual crimes but parents of naughty children, employers of allegedly bullying/harassing employees, etc.)
Maybe you have a situation where someone loudly outraged is accusing an autist who is too emotionally overwhelmed to defend themself. Maybe the 'villain' is a foreigner who doesn't even speak the local language. Maybe there's a power differential: a senior executive vs a shy junior employee. Whatever it is, if you have some responsibility for dealing with the situation, ask yourself if the person could defend themself even if innocent. Otherwise you are likely to end up perpetrating one of society's many miscarriages of justice.